


Together Again

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, Woven Beauty, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-11-22 03:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: Woven Beauty. When Detective Weaver is shot in the line of duty, the hospital calls his estranged wife, Belle. As she waits for news, listening to the messages he left her that night, she reflects on what drove them apart and wonders if they can reconcile.Part one written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, availablehere.Part two written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt: April showers, green, candyfloss/cotton candyPart three written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt: “Scars are just another kind of memory” (quote)





	1. Chapter 1

It was the middle of the night when she got the call, and Belle thought that she was justified in being short with the caller considering she’d only just managed to get to sleep and since she’d hit the middle trimester, sleep was never very forthcoming in the first place. Added to that, John had been calling her earlier and she had been in no mood to talk to him or to listen to the messages he left. 

This wasn’t John. This was an unknown number. Might still have been John, though, if he’d got drunk and lost his phone like he did the first week after she left. He’d called her from Roni’s, and Roni had ended up dragging him away from the phone and apologising profusely.

Still, a small part of Belle knew that people did not generally call other people at three o’clock in the morning unless it was an emergency, and if it was an emergency then she probably ought to answer the call. That didn’t mean that she had to be happy about it though. 

“What?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Mrs Annabelle Weaver?” It was not John, and Belle sat up in bed, suddenly alert as a little ball of ice began to grow in the pit of her stomach. 

“Yes, this is Belle Weaver. Who are you?”

“I’m calling from Hyperion general hospital. John Weaver was brought in tonight and you’re listed as his emergency contact.”

“Oh God, is he ok? What happened?”

“Mr Weaver was shot.”

The nurse was still telling her all the details, explaining that John was in surgery and they were doing all they could, but Belle didn’t hear any of it. Her husband was in hospital. Shot. Maybe dying. Just because she’d left him three months ago didn’t mean that she wanted him gone forever. She still loved him; she’d never intended to separate their lives for good, not with a little one on the way. She touched her belly, almost unconsciously. This baby couldn’t lose their dad before they’d even met him. 

There was a shuffle on the other end of the phone, and another voice spoke.

“Belle, I’m so sorry.” It was Rogers, John’s partner. Belle liked Rogers; she’d been sad not to see him so regularly after she and John had separated. “We were on a stakeout, it wasn’t supposed to happen, it was just supposed to be reconnaissance, take some pictures and stuff, but they must have been tipped off. They got the drop on us. I’m so sorry, Belle.”

Belle couldn’t speak. The lump in her throat was choking her and her stomach was turning itself in knots. _Hang in there, baby, please._

“Belle? Do you want me to come and get you?”

“Yes.” The word was a choked gasp, barely more than a sob. “Please.”

She hung up, throwing her phone down onto the bed and pressing her hands over her face. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not with them both still so mad at each other, not with so many things left unsaid. He couldn’t die. She couldn’t lose him like this. 

Belle got out of bed and dressed in a daze, looking out of the window every few seconds for the headlights of Rogers’ car. By the time he arrived, she was sitting outside on the porch waiting for him, her phone cradled in both hands, dreading it ringing again, the hospital saying that they’d done all they could, but he hadn’t made it. She looked at her inbox full of voicemail messages, all from John. What if he’d called her after he’d been shot? What if this was the last time she heard his voice?

The journey to the hospital was tense and silent, both of them lost in their own spiralling thoughts, and Belle barely heard the nurse explaining that John was still in surgery and guiding her into the family waiting room. All she could do was stare at her phone. She had no idea how long she might be sat there, so she swallowed hard around the lump in her throat and began to listen to the messages.

_“Hi Belle, it’s me. Look, I know you’re still angry, but I really think we need to talk about this, please. Please be reasonable. Can we meet up somewhere tomorrow? Please call me back.”_

_“Belle, I’m sorry, I was an arse. And I’m sorry I haven’t reached out sooner, I’m a stubborn arse. We’re both stubborn. Everyone said that at our wedding. Please call me back.”_

_“Hi Belle.”_ There was a long pause and a heavy sigh. _“Look, I don’t know what to say to make this better. All I know is that I miss you. Please call me back. I love you, and the baby.”_

_“Belle…”_ The lump in Belle’s throat expanded. John’s voice was soft and breathy; this message had definitely come after he’d been shot. _“Belle, I love you, and I love our little one. Please make sure she knows my name. I don’t care if you tell her you hate my guts, but please… tell her my name… Please… I love you…”_

Belle gave in to her abject misery and burst into tears. 

The baby had been what they’d fought over. It wasn’t planned; they’d never really discussed having children beyond establishing that Belle wanted them at some point and John wasn’t so sure. This pregnancy was entirely accidental, Belle only realising after the fact that the antibiotics she was taking for an ear infection had cancelled out her birth control pill. She’d been so happy when she’d seen the little plus sign on the pregnancy test, but that happiness had been short lived when she’d told John and seen his reaction. They’d argued and argued and argued, and they’d both said some horrific things to each other. The point of no return had come when John had pulled overtime at the station instead of coming to her ten-week scan with her. That was when she’d decided that enough was enough and she’d packed her bags.

_I don’t care if you’re ready to be a father or not. I’m ready to be a mother and I’m damn well going to be one, with or without you._

The most frustrating thing was that she knew why John was so hesitant; they both knew, and she just couldn’t get him to talk about it. He always hid behind a plethora of other excuses, all flimsy as paper, and they both knew that he was skirting the issue.

John had never known his own father, not even his name. By all accounts he had been a thoroughly nasty piece of work who’d beaten his wife to within an inch of her life, so that when she knew she was expecting, she’d not only left her husband, she’d left the country and the continent.

John was scared that he would turn out the same. Bad blood ran in his veins and all that. If he’d just talked to her about it, Belle could have reassured him. Certainly, he was quick to anger, and there was always an unavoidable level of violence in police work, but he had never laid a hand on her, or on anyone else he’d ever cared about. He was not his father, the nameless spectre who’d haunted him all his life. 

But he’d never confided in her, not properly, and Belle was sick of trying to get him to open up. She was his wife, surely she out of everyone could be trusted with his deepest fears. But no, he had chosen to throw himself into his work instead, pushing the distance between them until it was a gaping chasm. 

Now that chasm might never be bridged, and another child might never know their father. 

Belle dried her eyes and rested her hands on her belly as she gazed out of the window, watching the morning sun beginning to break over the city. 

_Your daddy’s name is John Weaver, little one, and he is the most wonderful and frustrating man your mummy’s ever met._

“Mrs Weaver?”

A nurse was standing in the doorway and Belle felt her stomach turn another somersault. 

_Hang in there, baby, please._

“He’s out of surgery now. I’ll take you through to recovery.”

Belle scrambled off the sofa, clutching her phone. “Is he going to be ok?”

“The surgeon is hopeful that he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Oh, thank God.”

He looked so small against the stark white sheets and the machines buzzing and bleeping, and Belle could only stare at him. Objectively, she knew that he was not the tallest or broadest of men, but he’d always had such presence that it never seemed to occur to her. Now she could see just how hurt and vulnerable he was.

“He’s a fighter, I’ll definitely give him that much. It shouldn’t be too long before he wakes up. Just call if you need anything.”

Belle nodded mutely, sinking into the chair beside the bed as the nurse left the room. She took John’s hand, holding it tightly with both of hers.

“Please wake up. My next scan’s next week and I need you to tell me if I want to find out if the baby’s a boy or a girl or if I want it to be a surprise. You’re far more pragmatic about these things than I am. Please wake up, John. I love you. And I know your baby loves you too. And I know you’re scared that you’ll be a terrible dad, but you won’t be. I think the very fact that you’re scared about it means that you won’t be. I know I’m not going to be the world’s best mum, but all we can do is our best. Please wake up, my love. Please.”

She didn’t know how long she sat there. She knew that she had to get up to the bathroom twice and that Rogers kept coming in with tea and sandwiches and telling her in a voice with varying optimism that everyone was going to be ok.

Finally, after what felt like forever, John’s hand twitched in hers and his eyes flickered open. Belle felt tears prick her eyelids as he looked over at her blearily. 

“Hey,” she managed to choke out. “You’re ok.”

“You came.” His voice was raspy and whispering, and full of wonder.

“Of course I came. You’re my husband and I love you, even when you’re being a stubborn arse. I got your messages.”

John smiled. “I love you too.”

Belle leaned over and kissed his forehead. “We’ll get through this. We’ll get you back on your feet again and then we’ll sort ourselves out and then we’ll be a family, all three of us.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” He paused. “I’m just scared, Belle.”

“I know. I’ve always known. We’ll get you through it. You’ll be fine.”

“Is the baby ok?”

“He’s fine. Snug as a bug.” She took John’s hand and pressed it against her bump. It would still be another few weeks before they felt any kicking, but it was good to know that their child was sleeping safe and sound.

There was a tap on the door and Rogers poked his head around the frame. He smiled when he saw John awake.

“I was going to ask if there was anything you needed, Belle, but I guess not, now.”

“No, thank you, Rogers. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Rogers ducked back out of the room and John brought their joined hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

“I’m sorry I made you worry. And I’m sorry it took being shot to put everything into perspective.”

“It’s ok.” Belle stroked his hair back off his forehead and planted another kiss there. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters. We’ll get to everything else in good time.”

Everything was going to be all right in the end. There might still be misgivings on both of their parts, but they had time to resolve those. They had time to come back together again. 


	2. Chapter 2

There was a carnival atmosphere in Hyperion Heights despite the rain constantly threatening to pour from a turbulent sky. The fair was in town, and Belle had been seeing kids with balloon animals and sweet treats as big as their heads going past all day. Every time a family went past her window, she had thought of her own baby, and how soon, that picture of perfect domestic bliss would be her and John and their little one. 

Things hadn’t been plain sailing since she and John had got back together again, and she hadn’t expected them to be. They’d been separated for the best part of three months and it had been an acrimonious split; it wasn’t going to suddenly all be rosy just because they were finally on the same page about the baby. But they were both willing to put the work in, and Belle was sure that by the time their child arrived in the world, they would have put their troubles behind them once and for all.

She glanced at the door that led through to the detectives’ offices. She’d always tried to be good about waiting in reception when she came to see John at the station, but he was taking an awfully long time about coming out and they were going to miss the appointment if they didn’t get a move on soon. The desk sergeant caught her sightline and smiled, waving her over and giving her a visitor’s badge before opening the door for her. 

To give credit where credit was due, it was obvious that John was in the process of leaving, or at least, trying to leave. He was wearing his jacket and he had his keys in his hand, but he was standing over Rogers’ desk and the two of them were so engrossed in whatever was on the computer screen that they didn’t notice Belle’s approach until she was right in front of them. 

“I’m sure that what you’re doing is very interesting and important, Rogers, but I’m going to need to borrow my husband for a couple of hours.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Sorry. CCTV footage is thrilling stuff. Really sucks you in.”

John rolled his eyes and came around the desk, slipping an arm around Belle’s middle and kissing her cheek as Rogers looked on fondly.

“I’m so glad that you two are getting back together,” he said. “He was absolutely insufferable when you were split.”

“Yes, thank you, Rogers.”

“Well, more insufferable than usual.”

“I said _thank you_, Rogers.”

“Anyway, good luck, and I hope that he, she or undetermined is behaving and you can find out what he, she, or undetermined is.”

“Rogers, you make it sound like we’ll get there and the scan will show that she’s expecting an alien.”

“Stranger things have happened in Hyperion Heights.” Rogers gave a knowing shrug, and John sighed. 

“They really haven’t.”

Belle pulled her husband away before he could get caught up in another argument, and they made their way out of the station and towards the hospital. They had to pass by the fairground on the way, and the baby gave an aptly timed kick as a crowd of kids rushed past them. 

“Soon.” She rubbed her belly, trying to get the little one to stop moving. “Very soon, my love.”

“She’s going to have a sweet tooth,” John remarked. “She kicks every time you so much as sniff sugar.”

“She might be a he,” Belle admonished. “Hopefully we’ll find out in twenty minutes. You’re right about the sweet tooth though. I’ve never craved sweets as much as I do now.”

“I’ll buy you candyfloss on the way back,” John promised. “The midwives probably wouldn’t approve of you eating it in the hospital.”

“Damn.”

Sitting in the waiting room, Belle thought back again to their reunion. Between them, they’d seen enough of hospitals to last them a lifetime, and it still wouldn’t be over for at least another month. Belle wished it could be sooner; not only was she eager to meet her child in person, the baby was getting heavy now and her back and ankles were constantly aching. At least she had John back now, to rub her feet at the end of the day. She shivered when she thought of how close she had come to losing him altogether, and she forced her mind away from that terrible night and towards the future instead. The nursery was almost finished, and all it needed now was an occupant. 

“Hey.” John’s hand closed over both of hers where she was fidgeting with her fingers. “It’ll be ok.”

“I know.” She looked across at him, meeting his concerned eyes and smiling. “I’m just excited. I’m sick of waiting for this baby to be born; I want them to be here now.”

Logically, she knew that she and John needed the coming month to get everything fully behind them, but patience had never really been one of her strong suits.

“Mrs Weaver?” The sonographer was beckoning them over and John squeezed her hand. 

“Here we go.”

The sonographer was chatting away quite happily as she tucked paper into Belle’s waistband and smeared cold green gel over her bump; but Belle and John just looked at each other and then at the screen. This moment was for them and their baby; they barely paid attention to what the sonographer was saying. 

“And as you can see, your baby is a happy, healthy and rather wriggly little girl.”

“Don’t say I told you so,” Belle muttered. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” John was, however, grinning like the cat that had got the cream. She wondered if there was a betting pool going on at the station. There’d been one at her own office, and everyone had been most put out that she hadn’t been able to give them any news before she’d gone on maternity leave. 

“I guess Gideon’s out as a name then.” Belle sighed. “That was the only one I had picked out.”

“Maybe you’ll get luckier next time.” The sonographer winked and John gave a squawk of alarm that he hastily turned into a cough. 

“Let’s just survive this one first, shall we?”

The sonographer laughed. “All right. Well, everything’s looking good, the only thing to be aware of is that her head is still at the top here. Normally by now we would have expected her to start turning head downwards, but like I said, she’s very active so she’ll probably get there in her own time soon enough. I’ll go and print a copy for you.”

She wiped the gel off Belle’s tummy and left her to put her top to rights.

“We’re going to have a girl!” Belle turned to John, who seemed to have come down from his momentary high of being right about the gender and was just staring at Belle’s bump. She took his hand, placing it on her belly above where their daughter was kicking. It wasn’t the first time he had seen their baby on sonogram, and it wasn’t the first time that he had felt her move, but there was something more real about her now; it felt like she was more of a person they had yet to meet instead of a mystery to be discovered. 

The sonographer came back with the printout, and Belle took it, gazing in wonder at her daughter, then peering over the top of the paper to look at her bump, then back at the paper. John was looking over her shoulder with just as much rapt attention, and finally, although a little reluctantly, she handed the picture to him. 

“Take it back to work,” she said. “I know that Rogers will be dying to see it. There have been times over the past eight months where I think he’s been more excited about being a godfather than we are about being parents.”

“Of course he is.” John took the photo and looked at it for a few more long moments before stowing it inside his jacket. “He’ll get to coddle and spoil her and then just hand her back to us when she starts crying. It’s the perfect gig. I think everyone would rather be a godparent than a parent.”

Belle just smacked his shoulder playfully, because she knew that for all his initial misgivings about his impending fatherhood, he was now definitely looking forward to it, just as much as she couldn’t wait to be a mum. 

They walked back towards the station hand in hand, and John didn’t protest when Belle dragged him into the fairground. 

“You promised me candyfloss,” she reminded him. 

“I’m not denying that at all. Although, I’m beginning to think that maybe that’s what we should call the baby.”

“What, candyfloss?”

“Well, Candy.”

Belle just looked at her husband with an expression that she hoped brokered no arguments.

“We are not calling our daughter Candy.”

“Why not? I think it’s fitting, considering the direction your cravings seem to be going in at the moment.”

“Would you call her Chicken Wings if they were what I was craving?”

“No, because unlike Chicken Wings, Candy is a perfectly acceptable name for a girl.”

The argument continued until they reached the candyfloss stand, and then Belle was too absorbed in her fluffy pink treat to bother continuing it. John just chuckled, slipping his arm back around her shoulders as they moved away, wandering through the fairground for a while as Belle ate. 

She wasn’t surprised when the heavens opened above them; the rain had been threatening all day, but she was still put out at the amount of her candyfloss that was being dissolved in the deluge. John took off his jacket, attempting to hold it over both of them as they hurried under cover as fast as Belle could make it with her extra weight. Hopefully it would only be a shower and they could get going again soon, but at the same time, it was kind of nice, stuck here with John and a good excuse not to move...

“Hey!” She tried to swat him away as he took a mouthful of her candyfloss, but she was too late, and had to settle instead of licking the pink wisps away from his lips, readily falling into his kiss. He tasted of sugar and synthetic food colouring, and Belle knew that she would as well, but she really didn’t care. This was the kiss that made her certain that they were going to be all right in the end. The culmination of all their weeks of reconciliation, and it had come down to one stolen candy-flavoured kiss in the middle of an april shower. 

They were truly together again. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was the perfect hour of stillness and dark, and Belle smiled. Tilly was sleeping soundly in the room next door, giving the occasional squeak or sniffle, but never stirring. The moon through the half-open venetian blinds cast silver strips of light across the bedroom, and John’s fingers were tracing pictures and patterns over her bare skin as they lay in the cooling, the bedcovers kicked off onto the floor and their nightclothes discarded along with them. It had been the first time they’d made love since Tilly had come into the world, the wait lengthened by Belle’s recovery from her surgery, but the months of abstinence had most definitely been worth it. 

She smiled as John ran his fingertip along the pink line at the bottom of her abdomen, usually hidden under her waistband. Tilly had steadfastly stayed the wrong way up, and nothing the doctors had tried could make her turn head downwards. Like both her parents, she was a stubborn thing. A c-section had been the best way for her to be born safely, and Belle could still remember the fear and trepidation she’d felt as she stared up at the operating room ceiling, numb from the waist down and holding John’s hand so tightly that she was certain she was cutting off his circulation. He hadn’t complained, though, just squeezing her hand whilst telling her that it was all going to be all right. It had taken her back to when he’d been recovering from surgery himself and she’d been the one in the chair by the bedside, offering hands to hold and soothing reassurances. 

Belle rolled over onto her side to face her husband, reaching out to touch his own scar, just below his ribs. He’d been lucky; the bullet had managed to miss all his major organs. 

“Matching war wounds,” she whispered. “The marks of life.”

“I think we wear them well.”

They were like memories, in a way. Like memories they were stark when they first appeared, and over time, they faded, the pain and trauma becoming more and more bearable until it was all in the past, but never entirely forgotten.

“Sometimes I can’t believe how close I came. To losing you forever.”

“I know.” John took her hand where it was still resting on his scar and brought it up to kiss her fingertips. “Sometimes I can’t believe how close I came, to losing everything forever. If I’m ever having a bad day, all I have to do is think about this scar, and it reminds me of everything that I have that makes it all worthwhile. A gorgeous wife, a beautiful daughter. In the end, I don’t need anything else. Well, a pay rise would always be nice, of course.”

“Yes. Now that our little one’s finally here, I think that we’ll be needing every spare bit of cash we can get. We’re going to spoil her rotten, you know.” Belle slipped her arms around John, throwing her leg over his hips and pressing in as close as she could, never wanting to let him go. 

“No, we won’t.” He ran his hand down her back. “You’ll be sensible like you always are. _I’ll_ spoil her rotten.”

“She’s going to be such a daddy’s girl; I can tell already. She’s got your nose.”

“I know, I feel I ought to apologise to her now for that. At least she has your eyes to make up for it.”

“I’ll have you know that I happen to think your nose is very attractive. Don’t put yourself down.” Belle nuzzled her nose against his, and she was about to go in for another kiss when Tilly began to cry in the room next door. Belle laughed, burying her face in John’s shoulder. 

“Who was it who said that a baby was the most effective form of contraception?” she mumbled. 

“A wise, wise person.” John kissed the top of her head and unlatched her limpet hold on him. “I’ll go.”

“She’s probably hungry.” Belle looked over at the alarm clock. “It’s coming up for her normal time to want a feed. You’ve kept me up, Detective Weaver. I should have been asleep hours ago.”

“Ah, that may be, but you can’t deny that you enjoyed being awake at the time.” John grabbed his pyjama pants out of the mess of sheets and nightwear on the floor and put them back on, giving her a wicked smile as he left the room. Belle turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as she listened to her husband crooning softly to their daughter. Her fingers found their way back to her c-section scar, still so fresh, a permanent link to Tilly tattooed on her skin more effectively than ink could ever match. 

A chill ran across her, although whether it was the cooling temperature, or the memories of the surgery, was up for debate. As happy as she would have been not to move, she got up and started setting the covers to rights, finally getting everything straight just before John brought the still grizzling Tilly into the room. She was nuzzling against his chest, and John chuckled. 

“No, I’m the wrong parent for that, love. But it’s ok. Mama’s here.”

Belle took Tilly from him and offered her breast, and Tilly latched on greedily. John got back into bed beside her and Belle leaned back against him, reminded of her thoughts when she had first seen him in his hospital bed after the shooting - he was not particularly tall or broad, but he’d always been solid, grounded, like a sturdy tree that someone had planted that no-one would budge. He’d always had a presence that made her feel safe and supported.

Perhaps that was why she had been so very afraid when she had come so close to losing him forever; although she had always known that his job was unavoidably dangerous, he had always been so strong and stoic, he had always been _there_, and she simply couldn’t imagine a world in which he was not. Even though they had been separated at the time, she had at least known that he was around, and she’d always had the hope that they would reconcile eventually. 

She moved Tilly to her other breast, stroking her daughter’s cheek as she nursed. Everything about their daughter was perfect, but Belle knew that she’d get her own set of scars as time went on. As much as she wanted to wrap her precious child up in cotton wool and keep her safe from everything that the world could possibly throw at her, she knew that it would be impossible. Maybe she was worry-mongering, but even now, she could foresee grazed knees and elbows from falling off bikes and climbing frames. Even only a few months old, Tilly was outgoing and precocious, fascinated by the world around her outside of her pram. Whoever said that taking babies for walks got them off to sleep had never met Tilly Weaver, who would stare for hours on end in rapturous wonderment at birds and butterflies and even just the clouds above her. Oh, to be so young and in awe once more, able to see all of life’s beauty and none of its darkness. 

Tilly finished and gave a tremendous yawn, but Belle didn’t want to put her down just yet. Somehow, she always felt like she could never hold Tilly enough. John had been the first to hold her after she’d been born, and Belle’s feelings had always been mixed about that. She would never want to admit that she was jealous of her husband getting to hold their baby before she did, because he’d tucked Tilly in beside her just a couple of minutes later whilst they were still stitching her up, but before plans had changed and they’d had to go for the c-section, she’d always envisaged holding her as soon as she was born.

Now that she was here in the world and they were all together and not in an operating theatre, Belle wanted to make up for those two minutes of lost time. John sometimes joked that he never got to hold the baby now. 

It was all right now. He was holding her, and she was holding Tilly, so it all worked out. She looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled; he was as mesmerised by Tilly as she was. 

“Did you ever think that we would make it this far?” she asked. “I don’t just mean when I got pregnant and all the fall out that came from that. I mean when we first met. Did you ever think that four years later, we’d be sitting here in our bed in our apartment with our daughter?”

“I’m not sure. Not from the moment we first met. It was more gradual than that. But soon enough I knew that you were going to be the one I would spend the rest of my life with.” He paused. “I never expected to be a dad, you know that. I never expected that I would be a good dad, at least. I still don’t know whether I am one.”

“You’re doing fantastically so far. We’re never going to be perfect. We’re both learning. But we can make it work, I’m sure of it. We made us work, after all, and now that we’re both working together to make parenthood work, well, I don’t think that there’s anything we can’t do.”

Snuggled in against Belle’s chest, Tilly gave a squeaky yawn and smiled as if in agreement. Yes, they would all be all right, and the scars that they gained along the way would only make them stronger.


End file.
